A Search For The Impossible

A Search For The Impossible



A gentle smile lightened Marie’s face as the first tentative flakes of snow fluttered serenely towards Earth. Unlike many of her peers, Marie actually liked the snow. For her it was not the treacherous death trap so many of her age feared. No, for Marie snow represented magic and wonder. She had never been able to prove her father or teachers wrong no matter how hard she tried. In all her 91 years, she had never managed to find two snowflakes that were identical.



The smile spread, becoming a grin as she recalled the times she had run out at the first sign of snow, hands covered by red woollen mittens, her throat hidden by a matching scarf and her blonde curls hidden beneath the bobble hat which completed her ensemble; all lovingly knitted by her mother.



Of course she had no microscope and the delicate flakes melted long before she could get them to her father for inspection, but she never tired of trying! Gathering hands full of the freezing fluff, she would charge indoors to take her booty to her dad.



Injured during the Great War, her father was not able to help his daughter in her quest, but he relished the moments his pink faced daughter attempted to show him that she had actually found too snow flakes that were the same.



“Daddy! Daddy! I found them! Look!”



“Ah my darling girl. May be not this time eh? They are illusive those matching flakes, more illusive than fairies. That does not mean they are not out there. Never stop looking. There are billions of snowflakes. Check each one if you can. But don’t ever stop searching!”



It mattered not how hard she argued with her teachers or friends, they simply refused to believe that somewhere there were two snow flakes that were identical.



As Marie grew older and her father’s health stole him from her at too young an age, she never lost her fascination with snow. At every opportunity she would don hat, scarf and gloves and plunge herself into the stuff. She loved the smell of the cold air, the tingle as the flakes melted on her tongue as she lifted her head skywards to catch them. She especially thrilled at the way the grime of the town was written over, replaced by vast, thick blankets of white powder. At least for a few hours, days if lucky, the town became a wonderland.



Lights always seemed brighter, people happier and the mills more quiet when the snow lay on the ground. People who rarely had time or energy to speak to each other suddenly became animated. The mothers discussed how best to dry the washing. Fathers swapped tales of previous years when the snow had fallen faster and lay longer while the children built snow walls from behind which they launched attacks on their playmates. Dogs chased the stray snowballs before becoming distracted by yet another new smell issuing from beneath the snow.



Marie felt a pang of sorrow for the children of today. There was so much fear in the world. Threats blown out of all proportion by the media. Parents no longer let their children play out after dark. The traffic too fast and too many strangers who might cause harm. Television and DVDs, computers and virtual games had replaced skipping and hopscotch, kick can and yes, even snowball fights. The culture of blame had caused playgrounds to close and even now, as the first flurries began to give way to a full blown torrent, Marie could see the amber lights flashing as the council gritters fought to destroy any laying snow.



Sinking back into the depths of the chair, Marie closed her eyes and allowed her memories to flow. She recalled the look of horror on her mothers face the day she had been carried from the field having tumbled head over heels down the hill side after hitting a half hidden rock on her sled. It was only thanks to her father’s powers of persuasion that her mum had let her out in the snow again that winter. Marie had to admit in hindsight that her mother did have a valid point. She had been knocked unconscious and it was pure luck she had escaped with nothing more serious than a mild headache and a few well placed bruises!



The smile slipped as Marie remembered the saddest winter. Her beloved daddy’s last on this Earth. It was the one time Marie had wished the snow would not fall. It was January and her father had been ill for some weeks. She had at the time been oblivious to the strain etched on her mother’s face. Nor had she noticed her father was sleeping more. She had not taken any notice of the wracking cough that shuck her dad’s body with such violence. At ten years old she had been protected from it all so when one morning she rose early and did not notice that the house was unusually quiet.



With the innocence of childhood, she clambered out of bed, her breath making fog in the cold air of the bedroom. She pulled on her thick dressing gown and a pair of oversized woollen socks and ran downstairs. The first inkling that things were not quite right was seeing her mother, head in hands, elbows resting on the table and her shoulders shaking gently.



Her father had passed to the next life not half an hour earlier. The doctor had been sent for as had her grandmother. All Marie wanted was a hug from her dad. She did not remember anything more of the week that followed. She now knew her dad had died of TB or consumption as it was called then. At the time, all she knew was her daddy was no longer within her reach.



The snow began to fall as the whole village gathered in the small church. Sobs were stifled as the congregation listened to the vicar. By the time the service was over and family and friends were filing towards the grave side, the snow was falling heavily.



An anguished cry erupted as Marie was finally overcome by grief. “No! Not today! Please! Stop the snow!”



A kindly arm hugged her close as the frigid tears fell unchecked. She wanted her daddy back to look at snow flakes. He couldn’t go away yet. She hadn’t found the matching snow flakes.



Marie sighed. Her memories had brought tears. She had feared the death of her father would mean the end of un and happiness, but she need not have worried. Her mother had sat the little girl on her knee that night. The fire was blazing in the hearth and the kettle, hanging from it’s rod that spanned the back of the fire, steamed reassuringly.



“Marie, your dad is not so far away. I know you can no longer see him, but he sees you. His love is in every sunbeam and twinkling star and he has a special plan for you.



The snow that is now falling is his gift to you. Each and every snowflake that lands on your nose is a kiss from him. When you roll in the snow making angels, your dad is sending you a hug. Your daddy is still as real as a snowflake but just as hard to hold. While ever you see magic in snow, your daddy is by your side. Don’t ever stop looking for the two that match.”



Marie snuggled deeper into the chair, just as she had snuggled into her mother’s comforting arms that evening so many years before.



No, she had never stopped looking, had always found the magic in snow and now she was so grateful for all the wondrous days she had spent in the snow. And now as she sat facing the darkened window, she wondered whether there was a small girl somewhere, wrapped in woollen hat, scarf and gloves, a gleam in her eye and a grin on her face, searching for two identical snowflakes.



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